In anticipation of Tomorrow
by Mere-lisse
Summary: In a world where information is prized above all else, stories are passed down by word alone, and learning and growth is a process. How does one survive without memories? Amelia is a living reminder of the horrors Lord Voldemort is capable of, and while her mind is blank, something in her knows that there was more to living than just existing. Severus Snape x OC Amelia


Summary: In a world where information is prized above all else, stories are passed down by word alone, and learning and growth is a process. How does one survive without memories?

When 29 year old Amelia, a young Arithmancy teacher loses the fight to Lord Voldemort's rising reign, her past becomes as murky as ever, and she is unable to form new memories. Each day arrives with her mind blank, filled with nothing, reaching out to nothing, and grasping nothing. Will she ever remember what she has lost? How do the people around her change?

"Memories are special moments that tell our story." – Anon

" _What on earth are you doing?" He spoke, his voice laced with accusation. He stood at the entry of the kitchen, leaning on the doorframe with his arms folded and a look of disgust on his face. The little house elves continued to run amock, oblivious to their new intruder, balancing treacle tart on cauldron cake on rock cake on their little shoulders._

 _She swivelled around, with her baking spoon in one hand, covered head to toe in fine white powder. "Flour" – Muggles called it._

" _Why, it's Christmas Eve! That certainly calls for some Pumpkin Pasties, does it not?"_

 _He didn't say anything, as he continued to watch her from the edge of the kitchen. But she knew he wanted to ask, "Why not use magic? Why make it harder for yourself?" She was grateful he didn't say anything, enjoying his quiet company as she rushed to and from the counter to the oven. When a certain elf named Dinky quietly snuck up to him from behind, startling him as she tried to offer him a seat. His face distorted into a frown – clear distaste plastered etched into his usually inscrutable expression. Dinky apologised profusely, and vanished as quickly as quickly as she had appeared, without even giving him a chance to respond – not that she wanted to hear what he wanted to say._

 _And once she piped the last of the green stalks onto her delicate sweets, she stood back in overwhelming satisfaction and wiped her brow with the back of her sleeve. He thought she was positively glowing._

 _He took a step back when he saw her pick up one pumpkin pasty carefully between her index finger and her thumb. Shock flickered across his face, before being replaced by pure horror._

 _But what if –_

 _His hands fumbled for the doorknob, but it wasn't turning like it usually did. He swore he saw Dinky's large eyes peer enthusiastically through the crack in the back of the fridge. She took a step forward and smiled sweetly._

" _Come on, some sugar once in a while can't be that harmful can it?"_

 _He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed himself closely against the back of the door. It wasn't that he didn't like sweets or that he purposely avoided them or that they were unhealthy and he would throw out any chocolate that he would only hypothetically receive. He stopped himself once he realised that he's only lying to himself – he_ _ **hates**_ _sweets._

 _But what if –_

 _She sighed, unwilling to anguish the man anymore. She popped the pumpkin pasty in her own mouth, chewed in deep concentration for a few seconds before her face lit up at the success of her bakery._

 _But what if he knew?_

 _Professor Snape would have wished that tomorrow had never come._

The clock had just barely struck 6am and Amelia sat up slowly in her bed, smoothing her wild brown hair out of her eyes. It's early morning, and the whole world was silent, the sun not yet hot, and night dew clinging to the soil, making the plants glisten. Her eyes flickered over to the mahogany desk piled high with papers, the oak wardrobe, and the mirror hanging off a nail on the wall. There was a rhythmic tick-tocking of the clock in the background. The sky was turning a smokey orange and Amelia shivered as a morning breeze filtered through her window. Quietly watching for a moment too long, she slipped her feet out of the covers and stood on the cool wooden floorboards as her long nightgown hung tiredly off her thin frame.

She felt the incomprehensible tug of routine pull her towards her desk. Frowning slightly, her hand reached for the planner resting on top of the pile of papers, and she flicked to the most recent entry.

There was only one.

 _21_ _st_ _April 1994_

 _Headmaster – Albus Dumbledore, Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor – Minerva McGonagall, Potions teacher and head of Slytherin – Severus Snape (Intimidating)_

 _Period two – Arithmancy class tomorrow_

She flicked through the planner again, and again. Was that all? The names sounded awfully familiar, but her mind blanks and her heart ached as she sat at her desk, repeating the names aloud. There was an obvious difference between knowing you may have forgotten something, and simply forgetting. But when Amelia looked into the photo frame, "Staff at Hogwarts '93" and saw fifteen wizards and witches gathered together and laughing, all specialised in their own spectrum of knowledge, she couldn't seem to draw the line between simply forgetting and knowing she had forgotten. Of course she had known these people. The problem was, she HAD known these people.

She pulled out a thick textbook hidden underneath the pile of loose papers on her desk. There was a piece of paper wedged between two pages, and Amelia turned to it curiously.

' _Complex numbers and its applications.'_

Something she recognised, at last. She guessed that was what she was teaching today in class. Soon enough, the combined sound of pages flicking and the clock ticking filled the room. Amelia watched a black and white figure in a photo frame briefly perform a few complicated mathematical calculations on a blackboard, and she skimmed over core theory for the lesson today. Amelia allowed her blank mind to absorb information, emotions and memories as she worked, feeling the pleasant fulfilment and satisfaction of productivity.

There was a knock at the door. Amelia glanced warily at the clock, it was just barely 645, and the sun was peaking over the horizon.

"Good morning," the stranger smiled stiffly, as she adjusted her hold on the kitchen tray. It's the kind of empty smile tugged habitually across your lips, when a friend accidentally insults you, but you don't want to take offense and risk your friendship. It's the kind of empty smile tugged habitually across your lips, when you can do nothing to help, only understand their situation. Amelia doesn't meet the stranger's eyes.

There was a dark brown liquid in the porcelain teacups, and two biscuits sitting on the side. The stranger shuffled to the side, an obvious attempt to enter Amelia's room.

"Good morning," Amelia replied automatically and was silent once more, stubbornly blocking the doorway, her arms hanging awkwardly by her sides. Amelia noticed how the stranger seemed to act in an air of familiarity. Familiarity not usually present in an unanticipated greeting. Familiarity in an unfamiliar situation.

Amelia looked up hesitantly and asked,

"Have we met?"

The stern lines across the strangers' forehead undoubtedly formed over many long years seemed to soften for a moment, before standing up a little taller, a little more confident.

"Yes."

Amelia stepped back, allowing the stranger into her room, an odd trust in the stranger that had decided to stop by her room at the crack of dawn. The stranger settled her tray down on the mahogany desk, before passing her a teacup. Amelia eyed the swirling dark brown liquid before following the stranger's example and takes a sip. Flavour struck Amelia, and her eyes widened; the hot drink was bitter but pleasantly so.

The stranger began to speak, as if reading her mind.

"It's a beverage Muggles like drinking in the morning – coffee." The stranger handed her a biscuit, and Amelia takes it with an outstretched hand. "You're one of the few wizards that like this. You said it was made by grinding coffee beans – patiently, might I add, magic infused beans just didn't taste the same to –"The stranger was cut off by Amelia clearing her throat.

"What's your name?"

"My name is Minerva, Minerva McGonagall."

Amelia's hand reached for her planner faster than her mind had registered where she had previously heard the name from. She grasped her quill between her index finger and thumb, and doodled a kind looking face with its hair pulled back into a bun. Frowning slightly, she looked back up at Minerva, then down at the planner again. Minerva laughed. Amelia flushed, and the stranger tapped her glasses with a fingernail.

 _Oh._ Quickly drawing a horizontal figure eight around the drawing's eyes, Amelia leaned back and grins.

Minerva McGonagall and Amelia met for the first of many first times to come.

Amelia stood in front of the class, dressed in pastel purple teaching robes, textbook flipped to 'Complex numbers and its applications,' and looked down at her students. On the class roll, there were 10 names, students that had decided to take up the mathematical elective. The eager looking student with bushy brown hair had answered to the name Hermione.

"Can anyone tell me how you find the range of loci of complex numbers?"

Hermione Granger's hand had shot up before Amelia had finished asking the question. The rest of the students continued to scratch down her question.

"Yes, Hermione? Come up here and draw it on the chalkboard."

Hermione was practically glowing. After her previous potions class, it was only natural for her to attempt to redeem herself after Snape's scathing remarks. Scratching out a perfect sector of a circle, she returns to her seat as Amelia continued with her lesson.

"The basis of all magic comes from a combination of the imaginary and reality." She started. "However, it's hard to work with the imaginary physically, and that's why we use numbers. Simply assign a variable to the imaginary and we work with that. To perform magic, is to draw perfectly from the imaginary and reality, and the locus here shows us where to best invest our magic in the given range, and make the most out of the energy expended."

Amelia felt blessed to be able to teach this subject. It couldn't be taken as a bludge subject such as Divination or Muggle Studies, where content learnt was questionable and the passing rate was high. Arithmancy was a subject only for sharp-minded, willing to put in hard work to truly understand the origin of magic.

Amelia trudged out of the classroom following the students after she packed her papers, only to be stopped by another stranger. She frowned, was this a genuine first time meeting, or another thing she's forgotten? She swore she had seen him smiling behind half-moon spectacles along with the rest of the teaching staff in the small photo frame.

"Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster. May I invite you to my office now, if you're not too busy?"

She hesitantly reached out to grasp his outstretched hand. She remembers him from her planner, and mentally notes to doodle his appearance down, just like she had done with Minerva. She swore she wouldn't forget his glasses in this drawing. The handshake felt more like a judgement of her character than a genuine greeting.

"No, not busy." She replied.

The pair made small talk as they walked up to his office. She noticed the cheery nature in his character, and his interest in modern history and students. He would point out things of interest to Amelia, the people running about the portraits, their history, their tendency to get up to no good and follow students around. Amelia ducked her head and trailed behind him wordlessly up the stairs as the gargoyle shifted to allow them to move through.

"Would you care for a lemon drop?" He asked, opening a round cylindrical container. She shook her head and sat down in the chair opposite his desk. The portraits stirred in their frames as they heard Dumbledore's voice.

Amelia leaned forward in her seat, looking at the silver instruments tinkling and whirring, emitting puffs of smoke as they spun anchored to their bases. Dumbledore sat down, pulling out a large silver basin from the second shelf in his cupboard, and placed it between them.

"This is a Pensieve, a place where you can store your memories."

Running her hands over the bumps and ridges of the runes carved in the silver shimmering bowl, Amelia felt a smile tug at her lips. Out of all the magnificent instruments in Dumbledore's office, this was her favourite already.

Placing two fingers to her temple, she extracted two silvery wisps of memory and allowed them to swim in the basin. Then her arm fell limp by her side, and she leaned back into the seat, looking blankly through Dumbledore, her hazel eyes having lost their usual shine.

 _What use is a person without their memories?_

Dumbledore stood slowly, eyes wide. Yesterday, he assumed the accident had just temporarily pushed her memories to the back of her mind. He pressed two fingers to her temple, feeling nothing. As much as he wanted to respect her privacy, he took a deep breath and commanded,

"Legilimency!"

Dumbledore tightened his grip on her shoulder as she went limp in the chair. He penetrated through layer after layer of the complicated mind, in suffocating darkness as he swivelled around and around, looking for any hint of light, indicating the presence of a memory or a thought. Never had he seen a mind so eerily quiet and empty. Upon reaching a fold, he realised he had hit a blank wall; there was nothing left to explore.

He felt himself being pulled out of her mind. Snapping open his eyes, he was surprised to see Snape leaning on the doorway to his office, watching out of curiosity. His hair hung greasily from his scalp, and his long black cloak trailed on the ground. The tip of his wand was poking cautiously out of his sleeve.

"I didn't know you had a thing for invading people's minds." He spoke sarcastically, his dour expression more prominent than ever. Folding his arms across his chest, he continued, "Sounds like a certain someone else, I'll let you know now."

Dumbledore said nothing to this. He realised that the only memories she had were of today, and her past had simply vanished. What he didn't realise was that she could only retain memories until the next time she slept, which was an approximate 24 hours.

There was dark magic at work here.

"Severus, stay, after she leaves. I have important things to discuss with you."

Pressing the Pensieve to her head, he released the memories, allowing them to reoccupy Amelia's mind. She gasped in surprise, as colour filled her eyes.

"You are dismissed."

Amelia stood up from the chair, unsure as to what had just happened, feeling nothing except a strange and almost painful nudging at the back of her mind. She glanced over at Snape, before quickly walking out of the office after meeting his stern gaze.

The gargoyle slid shut behind her.

Her candle flickered dangerously as the flame was just about to go out. Frantically, she doodled an old headmaster with half-moon spectacles under a new planner entry and marked where she had taught up to for Arithmancy. Slipping out of her heavy robes, she pulled on her nightgown and crawled under the covers of her bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The clock had just barely struck 6am and Amelia sits up slowly in her bed, smoothing her wild brown hair out of her eyes. It's early morning, and the whole world is silent, the sun not yet hot, and night dew clings to the soil, making the plants glisten. Her eyes flickers over to the mahogany desk piled high with papers, the oak wardrobe, and the mirror hanging off a nail on the wall. There is a rhythmic tick-tocking of the clock in the background. The sky is turning a smokey orange and Amelia shivers as a morning breeze filters through her window. Quietly watching for a moment too long, she slips her feet out of the covers and stands on the cool wooden floorboards as her long nightgown hangs tiredly off her thin frame.

She feels the incomprehensible tug of routine pull her towards her desk. Frowning slightly, her hand reaches for the planner resting on top of the pile of papers, and she flicks to the most recent entry.

There are only two.

 _21_ _st_ _April 1994_

 _Headmaster – Albus Dumbledore, Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor – Minerva McGonagall , Potions teacher and head of Slytherin – Severus Snape (Intimidating)_

 _Period two – Arithmancy class tomorrow_

 _22_ _nd_ _April 1994_

 _Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor – Minerva McGonagall (doodle). Is interested in coffee. Coffee has a nice taste, ask her how she made it next time. Is friendly._

 _Headmaster – Albus Dumbledore (doodle – half moon spectacles). The password to his office is Lemon Sherbet, if you ever need to find him. Knows a lot about history and cares genuinely about students. Is a nice man._

 _Period two and three – Arithmancy class tomorrow._

She flicks through the planner again, and again.

" _Memories are special moments that tell our story."_

 _But what if…_

Was that all? The names sounded awfully familiar, but her mind blanks and her heart aches as she sits at her desk, repeating the names aloud. There is an obvious difference between knowing you may have forgotten something, and simply forgetting. But when Amelia looks into the photo frame, "Staff at Hogwarts '93" and sees fifteen wizards and witches gathered together and laughing, all specialised in their own spectrum of knowledge, she couldn't seem to draw the line between simply forgetting and knowing she had forgotten.

She pulls out a thick textbook hidden underneath the pile of loose papers on her desk. There is a piece of paper wedged between two pages, and Amelia turns to it curiously.

' _Complex numbers, its relationship with zero and its applications.'_

Something she recognises, at last. She guesses that was what she was teaching today in class. Soon enough, the combined sound of pages flicking and the clock ticking fills the room. Amelia watches a black and white figure in a photo frame briefly perform a few complicated mathematical calculations on a blackboard, and she skims over core theory for the lesson today. Amelia allows her blank mind to absorb information, emotions and memories as she worked, feeling the pleasant fulfilment and satisfaction of productivity.

There is a knock at the door. Amelia glances warily at the clock, it was just barely 645, and the sun was peaking over the horizon.

"Good morning," the stranger smiles stiffly, as she adjusts her hold on the kitchen tray. It's the kind of empty smile tugged habitually across your lips, when a friend accidentally insults you, but you don't want to take offense and risk your friendship. It's the kind of empty smile tugged habitually across your lips, when you can do nothing to help, only understand their situation.

Amelia notices that the stranger's smile doesn't really meet her eyes, and it makes her look a little older than she probably was.

There is a dark brown liquid in the porcelain teacups, and two biscuits sitting on the side. The stranger shuffled to the side, an obvious attempt to enter Amelia's room.

 _But what if…_

 _But what if she had none, could form none, and reflected on none? What is her story?_

"Good morning," Amelia replies automatically and was silent once more, stubbornly blocking the doorway, her arms hanging awkwardly by her sides. Amelia notices how the stranger seemed to act in an air of familiarity. Familiarity not usually present in an unanticipated greeting. Familiarity in an unfamiliar situation.

 _Memory – the faculty by which_ _the mind stores and remembers information._

Amelia looks up hesitantly and asks,

"Have we met?"

A/N: Hi all, these used to be two separate chapters, but I realised that it made more sense to combine them together into one. So, just a re-upload!

In this story, I really intend to explore the power of memory, and how the loss of it can severely impact a person, in particular themselves and the people around them. Hahaha, I really hope that I will be able to flesh out my OC character Amelia to have the complex personality that really reflects her situation. But who knows? I'll be trying my very best anyways

Alright, so I hope I didn't confuse you guys too much with sudden change to present tense in the last part. Was it a plot twist for you guys? I hope so! I will also be writing this story where the school year starts from the January. When it starts in September I get so confused haha. Also, the whole idea of magic originating from a mix of the imaginary and real will be explore briefly. I know, it's too much to start building an entire new universe out of that one idea hahah

Please Read and Review! Until next time!


End file.
